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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618148">second chances (are fucking bullshit)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh'>itisjosh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>onlypain [54]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angry Wilbur Soot, Angst, FUCK THAT GREEN BITCH, Gen, Hatred, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Wilbur Soot, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, as he should!, fuck dsmp!dream all my homies HATE that bitch, pogtopia wilbur my beloved, the fic in which wilbur soot beats the SHIT out of dream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:33:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618148</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let's have a talk about what you did to my little brother."</p><p>(or, pogtopia!wilbur pays a visit to dream)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; Wilbur Soot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>onlypain [54]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>329</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>second chances (are fucking bullshit)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for reference i feel like i shouldn't have to say this, but this is all dsmp, i do not condone any of this. torture isn't something you should ever resort to, hurting other human beings is bad and wrong. this is purely based off of roleplay and not at all about the real people - just dsmp!wilbur and dsmp!dream.</p><p>i wasn't entirely sure if i should put no warnings on this or not, since the Bad Things are only implied/spoken about but aren't shown, so i just wanted to make that clear. implied/referenced torture, torture is spoken about but not in great detail, the ending to this fic is where the implied torture is most at. just be careful when reading, read the tags, don't read if this could possibly trigger you or anything of that sort.</p><p>stay safe &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This place is fucking sad. </p><p>The prison is grey and dull, filled with obsidian that lines the walls. It's broken and cracked, slightly tinted purple. It's disgusting, this entire place is dingy and full of broken memories and faded hope. It's washed out and sad, it's pathetic, this place is so fucking pathetic, and Wilbur thinks that it fits the rhetoric it was made for perfectly. Everything about this place is hopeless and awful, it's a sad, twisted little palace made for one singular person, and that's fitting. God, that's so fucking fitting. Wilbur runs his hands along the walls as he walks, his lips tugging upwards as he wanders throughout the halls. He smiles as he walks, listening to his steps echo throughout the prison, loud and telling. He walks with a purpose, he walks with a goal, and he intends to complete that goal. </p><p>Wilbur looks behind him for only a brief second, the doors to the prison slowly closing in on themselves. The outside light is gone a second later, plunging him into sudden darkness, though not for very long. Glowstone lights up the entire prison, the entire area around him, even though it's still all dull and even more difficult to see, but that's not really all that important. Wilbur continues to move, holding his head high as his trench coat trails behind him. The keys on his belt jangle, a constant reminder that they're there. He feels a sense of calm wash over him, he feels sort of..relieved, almost. A part of him thought that he would never be able to do this, but here he is. Wilbur beams to himself, standing directly in front of the one cell that has a prisoner in it. </p><p>The prison is a stupid little palace filled with broken lies. It's a palace for a prince, a true home for an abusive piece of fucking shit who deserves to have his limbs ripped off one by one. Wilbur reaches down to his belt, pulling off the keyring. He runs his fingers over their edges, looking for the one that will unlock this specific cell. He finds it a second later, putting it in the keyhole and turning it to the right. The cell clicks, it clicks again, and then it opens. Wilbur wanders into the cell, reaching back behind him to close the cell door behind him. It slams shut, creaking and making noises that are almost terrifying. The obsidian in here is purple, broken and cracked. Crying obsidian, Wilbur realises a second later. A security measure, he assumes to himself.</p><p>There's only one prisoner in this place, and Wilbur thinks that's sort of fitting, given how said prisoner was the one who paid for this place to be built. Wilbur leans up against the wall, kicking up his foot to rest on the wall. He crosses his arms, though he lights a cigarette before he does, resting it in his mouth. He never used to smoke until he was killed, a bad habit he picked up while he was dead with Schlatt. It's gross and disgusting, and he knows that he should stop, but it's a little more difficult than he thought that it would be. Wilbur stares down at the man in front of him, the one who's desperately pretending like he isn't there.</p><p>Wilbur smiles. He must have known that this was going to happen eventually. There's no way in hell that Dream didn't know he would come back. Wilbur didn't plan on leaving for very long, and he also planned something else. Something much, much worse. As soon as he was revived, Wilbur promised himself that he would come to this prison and that he would bleed this son of a fucking bitch dry. Wilbur promised himself that he would make Dream suffer just like how Dream made his little brother suffer, and he intends on keeping that promise. Wilbur looks down at the man in front of him, he smiles a little bit more, his lips tugging upwards. Dream's entire body language screams terrified, he looks like he's about to piss himself. Wilbur wonders if Dream knows what he intends to do to him. </p><p>"Hello, Dream," Wilbur smiles, narrowing his eyes sharply as he stares down at Dream. Dream says nothing, he just shifts a little. "Let's have a talk about what you did to my little brother, alright?" He grins, crouching down. He plants his hands firmly on his legs, leaning forwards a bit. He stares directly at Dream, refusing to look away. After a few minutes in the silence, Dream glances up, fear very, very apparent in his eyes. He looks terrified, he looks scared and he's shaking, he looks like he's about to be sick.</p><p>Good. </p><p>"I know what you did to him, Dream. What you did to Tommy. How you <em>hurt</em> him," Wilbur sneers at the man, leaning even closer to Dream. He reaches up, taking a puff of his cigarette, setting it back in between his lips half a second later. "And I know that you're afraid of me and what I can do. Dream," Wilbur grins, standing up. He smirks, closing his eyes for a few moments. He isn't scared of Dream, not at all. There's nothing that that man can do to him, nothing at all. "For the first time in your life, you've truly fucked up. What I'm going to do to you will be worse than death, and by the end of it, you'll wish you had never even looked at Tommy," he smiles a little more, feeling something like fucked up glee settle in his chest. He knows that he isn't the good guy in this situation. He's evil, it's that simple. Wilbur is a bad person, he is a terrible, awful human being. </p><p>What he's about to do to Dream is only going to make him even worse. Wilbur can't find it in himself to give even the slightest of fucks, so he doesn't try. He doesn't care, he doesn't give a fucking shit. He's going to do what he came here to do, and he's not going to feel bad about it, not even for a second. Wilbur is going to make Dream wish that he was dead, and he intends on doing that for as long as he possibly can. He takes another drag of his cigarette, breathing out a second later. "Dream, you and I both know that Sam isn't going to stop me from doing what I want to do to you. He's going to turn a blind eye, and that's exactly what you deserve. Tell me, Dream," Wilbur pauses, tapping his foot against the ground a few times. The noise echoes around them, filling his ears. "Did you ever really think you could get away with this? Did you ever really think that I wouldn't find out? God, Dream, you're so fucking predictable."</p><p>"I don't have time to manipulate you," Wilbur laughs, ducking his head. "No, I'm going to hurt you, Dream. I'm going to hurt you until you wish you were dead, is that clear? Do you understand that?" He pauses, smiling even more to himself. He's going to make Dream wish he was dead. "I am going to make your entire life a living fucking hell, and I am going to revel in every single moment of it," he pauses, closing his eyes. He takes another drag, grinning a bit. "You know, I might not have been there when you were hurting him, but I'm here now. I'm here, Dream, and you're going to wish to god that you had never agreed to bring me back. I'm going to torture you, Dream," Wilbur doesn't think that needs to be said, he figures that it was already clear, but he says it anyways. There's no reason not to. "I'm going to fucking put you through hell, you green son of a bitch." Wilbur sneers, feeling a coil of rage slowly start to uncurl in his stomach. He managed to calm himself down enough to come to the prison and get through the better half of his speech, but now, as he stares down at Dream, he feels himself start to get angry. </p><p>Angrier than he's ever been in his entire life. The rage he feels is unbelievable, it's nearly suffocating. It threatens to entirely take him over, and Wilbur forces it back down, he forces himself to stay calm. No reason to waste his energy before he's ready to begin. Dream still hasn't said a single word to him this entire time, and Wilbur isn't really sure why. He assumes that it's out of fear or out of anger, but he really doesn't care. Wilbur doesn't give a single shit about Dream, and he care significantly less about what he wants or if he's afraid or not. Wilbur hopes that he's afraid. He hopes that Dream is fucking terrified of him. It really is the least that he can do, it's the least that Wilbur can do for his little brother. </p><p>"And by the end of this, Dream, you're not going to be the same," Wilbur beams at him. "You might even lose a few fingers, a few limbs," he pauses, giggling a little to himself. "I'm lying to you. That's definitely going to happen. But that's not important, not to me. What's important, Dream, is that you hurt. I want to see you bleed, and I will do everything in my power to bleed you dry," he grins. "If that means I have to spend weeks down here with you, then that's what I'll do. I intend on making your life a fucking nightmare, Dream. I'm going to bleed you dry. I'm going to bleed you to death," Wilbur smiles. "Oh, Dream, you really, truly, honest to God fucked up this time. You got off a little too easily by only being put here, but now that I'm back, now that I'm alive again?" He beams, bouncing on his heels a little. Dream is going to fucking pay. "You're fucked. You are <em>so</em> fucked. Today is your last day of true freedom, Dream. Now that I'm here, you're going to wish that you had just spent the rest of your days alone in this place." </p><p>Wilbur grins, looking down at his feet for a moment. There's no point in wasting time anymore. He thinks that he's said all he really needs to say. </p><p>"Now," Wilbur claps his hands together, beaming at the man in front of him. "You're going to tell me which hand you want me to saw off first, and while I'm doing that, I want you to tell me exactly what you did to my little brother so I can decide what I want to do to you next. Maybe by the end of all of this, you'll even apologise," he smiles, dropping his cigarette to the ground. He crushes it under his boot, huffing out one last breath of smoke from it. "I'm done talking."</p><p>Wilbur smiles.</p><p>"Let's start."</p><p>He pulls out his knife, the familiar clicking noise of it snapping out of its case making his heart soar. Dream is definitely going to be familiarized with this knife very, very quickly. Wilbur leans on his heels, though only for a second, and then he's moving forwards. He grabs Dream by the collar of his shirt, slamming him up against the wall, hard enough to knock him out. Thankfully, Dream stays awake, only looking a little stunned. He doesn't move or thrash about, he just stands there, his eyes burning, boring into Wilbur's. He's trying to look scary, but he really isn't. </p><p>"This is for Tommy," Wilbur leans forwards, whispering the words into Dream's ear. "This is for my little brother, you sick fuck." </p><p>The sound of screaming fills the small cell only a few moments later, and Wilbur intends on keeping that sound going for as long as he can.</p>
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